


I Want To Feel Love

by katieelizabeth



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alternate Ending - SPECTRE, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Romance, SPECTRE Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 17:31:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8410372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katieelizabeth/pseuds/katieelizabeth
Summary: He blinked, “Oh,” Bond didn’t seem particularly upset, though that didn’t mean anything really, “I’m sorry,” he offered.  The blond gave him a half smile, “Don’t be.  I’m not ready for retirement and retirement definitely isn’t ready for me.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my version of a Spectre Fix-It because, like a lot of other people, I hated the ending. I know there are hundreds on here but I wanted to add mine anyway.  
> The title is from Sam Smith's 'Writing's On The Wall' because it's totally a 00Q song.  
> This is unbetaed so all mistakes are mine, though unfortunately all of the characters belong to someone else.  
> Please read and leave kudos or comments.  
> Enjoy (hopefully) x

He wasn’t lying when he said he was out of bullets, though he was certain Oberhauser or Blofeld or whatever the hell he was calling himself thought he was.  Strangely Bond wasn’t even disappointed, death was too good for the bastard.  Instead he would answer for his crimes and then spend the rest of his life in solitary confinement at Belmarsh Prison. 

He also wasn’t lying when he said that he had something better to do.  He turned, heading towards Madeline who was waiting at the other end of the bridge.  He was vaguely aware of M arresting Franz and Tanner, Eve and Q behind him but he would deal with them afterwards.

“You didn’t kill him,” she said as he reached her.

James shrugged, “No bullets.”

“It doesn’t change anything.”

“I know.  You were right, this is who I am,” he paused, gazing at her steadily, “Will you be ok?”

Madeline rolled her eyes at that, “Please, I was perfectly ok before you came along and I’ll be perfectly ok when,” she broke off abruptly, her eyes suddenly focussing on something over his shoulder, “Oh.”

“What?” he turned, tensing up automatically, half expecting to see Blofeld or one of his cronies but he didn’t, instead all he saw was his erstwhile brother being loaded into an ambulance handcuffed to a police officer, fire fighters dealing with the flaming helicopter, Tanner and M watching impassively and Q, Q leaving, Eve hurrying after him.  He frowned.

“He’s in love with you, I think.”

James spun back round, “What?”

“You didn’t know,” it wasn’t a question, so much as a statement.  And the thing was he hadn’t _known_ precisely, “James,” she admonished, “And you call yourself a spy,” Madeline paused again, tilting her head to one side, “Do you feel the same?”

He took a few minutes to answer, he thought about lying but then she had just been kidnapped and almost died because of him, so really she deserved more than that, “I don’t know.”

“I think you do, deep down.  You’re just afraid of admitting it.”

While he hated to agree, she was right.  He was afraid.  Every person he got close to, every person he cared about and who cared about him had died, Tracy, Vesper, M, his parents, not to mention the various women he used for information during assignments.  Even Hannes Oberhauser, who’d taken in an angry and grieving little boy when he really didn’t have to, taught him how to ski and climb and hunt and provided the stability he needed.  It seemed like everything he touched fell apart, which was why he had purposefully stopped himself from wondering if the younger man felt the same and why he’d avoided examining his feelings for Q too closely. 

Of course he was far from unaware.

M’s death had left him drifting, as if he had lost the tether grounding him.  He’d hated the old woman at times but he’d always trusted her above everyone else he worked with, when she was gone he had no one really.  He and Tanner had known each other for a long time and he trusted him up to a point, Eve was nice enough though she had shot him and that somehow made trust difficult and he didn’t trust Mallory at all, perhaps he would in time but he would never be the same as his M.  Q looked so unassuming, young and skinny with the glasses and the hair and the terrible taste in clothes.  Bond had underestimated him but the boy, or rather man, had proved himself quickly, first with the gun and then by being invaluable when he was chasing Silva.  He looked incredibly breakable but was clearly made of much sterner stuff, given the fact that within days of meeting Bond, he was already willing to break all kinds of rules to help him.

The younger man had found him a few hours after he’d got back from Scotland, getting steadily pissed in a pub in Vauxhall.  He had got himself a drink, a pint of lager if he remembered rightly, and sat down.  They hadn’t spoken, just sat there until he let Q put him in a taxi.  Neither of them had mentioned it when he’d gone down to Q-Branch to collect his new equipment for his first assignment after passing his physical and psych evals. 

After that they got into a routine of sorts.  During missions Q was the voice in his ear, talking him through everything from disarming bombs to navigating through sewers.  Once he arrived home he’d go straight to Q-Branch and, if he was back early, ignore Q’s pointed remarks about attending his debrief or, if he was back late, attempt to drag Q away from his coding.  On the nights he was successful, they went to the same pub and talked, but not about anything in particular and never about work and, at Bond’s insistence, always shared a taxi so he could make sure the other man got home safely.  Occasionally he would borrow the spare room in Q’s small terraced house in East Dulwich.  During his downtime, more often than not, he found himself in Q-Branch. He liked it down there and if he pissed off Q just enough, he’d give him new prototypes to test.  Somewhere along the line he began to consider Q his friend, which had been fine, in his line of work he didn’t exactly make many friends. 

But then he began to notice things.  Little things really, that gradually became big things until they were all he could think of.  Like the way he always stuck the tip of his tongue out while he was working on something fiddly and how he liked to hum along to whatever song was stuck in his head when he thought no one was around and blast out classical music when he was alone in Branch long after everyone else had gone home.  And the way he could dodge work stations and his minions with ease even when he had his nose buried in his tablet but when he was outside his domain, seemed incapable of walking across a flat surface without tripping over something.  And the way he’d drag his fingers through his mess of hair when he was dealing with the other Double-Oh’s, which made him wonder what Q was like when he was on comms with him, and the way he worked and worked, more often than not to the point of exhaustion, when he had agents out.  And the way he always seemed to forget to eat, which led to Bond making a point of taking food with him whenever he dropped by, and always drank Earl Grey from his special mug, making almost orgasmic noises with each mouthful. Or the way his colourful trousers and hideous cardigans seemed to suit him. 

There were the other things too, like how he could deliver a cutting quip completely straight faced and then laugh at his own jokes minutes later or the way his voice in Bond’s ear never failed to calm him, even, and probably especially, when the mission was going to shit or the way he kept up with his verbal sparring and always gave as good as he got when they flirted over comms or the way he continually refused to make him an exploding pen and always told him off when he destroyed his equipment and messed with the various prototypes that littered Q-Branch.  Then there were the smiles, when James bought him tea or food.  Or when he bought back a functioning gun or radio or when he managed to get through a mission without almost blowing up a country and yes, he realised that, despite his best efforts, he had in fact lied when he’d told Madeline that he didn’t know if he was in love with Q or not.

“I need to go,” he said quietly.

“Yes, you do,” she nodded and smiled, stepping forwards and cradling his face before pressing a kiss to his cheek, “Good luck.”

“Thank you, I think I’m going to need it.” 

He turned away then and made his way over the bridge, past the bloodstains Blofeld had left and the still burning helicopter.

M was on the phone when he reached the other side and Tanner was speaking to a police officer, who quickly disappeared when James approached them.

“Bond,” he other man said evenly.

“Tanner.”

“I thought you…” he trailed off, nodding towards the other end of the bridge.

James shook his head, “No.  Not really me.”

M ended his phone call just then and strode over to them, “Double-Oh-Seven.”

“Sir,” he said with a nod, “C?”

“Dead,” his boss replied dispassionately.

“Shame, I was just starting to warm to him,” he glanced at the new SIS building as he spoke, the huge glass panes on the highest floor clearly missing, nasty way to go, “Where’s Q?”

“The Quartermaster went home,” M replied, “I suggest we all take a leaf out of his book, it’s been one hell of a day.”

Tanner murmured in agreement while Bond hummed noncommittally, obviously he had no intention of going home.  He had to speak to Q.

“What in God’s name happened to your neck?” M exclaimed suddenly.

He suppressed a grimace.  The places where Blofeld had drilled into the base of his skull had been pounding since he and Madeline had escaped his facility, the adrenaline had probably been masking it but now that was waning and his head felt like it was splitting in two.  He rubbed one of the puncture marks gingerly, “Blofeld decided to try his hand at neurosurgery.”

M marched forwards at that, he tensed up but only briefly, he knew there was no threat from his boss.  The other man grabbed his chin and yanked it round so he could get a better look at his neck, “Christ!  So much for going home.”

“It’s fine,” he muttered, trying to ignore the pain shooting through his skull.

“No it isn’t.  We are going to a hospital and you are going to let yourself be checked over.  That is an order, Double-Oh-Seven!”

“I have to speak to Q.”

His boss looked unsurprised, “Q will still be there after you’ve seen a doctor,” he paused, pulling his phone out again, “Besides, it might be a good idea to take a few days, decide what you’re going to say, otherwise you’ll probably fuck it up entirely.”

James wanted to ask how he knew, surely he hadn’t been that obvious, but he didn’t, instead he thought about what Blofeld had said about his machine.  He’d wanted to make him forget the faces of the people who were important to him and that meant Q.  The idea that he could wake up and not know Q, not feel anything when he looked at him, was terrifying.  His shoulders sagged, “You may have a point there, sir.”

“Hm.  So you’ll go to a hospital?”

He nodded.

“Good man,” M clamped a hand on his shoulder and moved away, pressing his phone to his ear again.

James turned to Tanner again, “Why did Q leave?”

“Are you really asking me that question?” the man replied archly.  James stay silent until Tanner spoke again, “You need to be careful there.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?”

The car arrived then and M re-joined them, hustling James towards the vehicle, no doubt before he could change his mind about the hospital visit and make his escape.  Though for once, he was uncharacteristically eager for medical attention, he wanted to make absolutely sure that Blofeld hadn’t damaged anything during his foray into brain surgery.

* * *

After the Nine Eyes, Denbigh, Spectre, Blofeld shit storm Q spent two whole days sitting in endless hearings, explaining his actions, listening to M, Eve and Tanner explain theirs and enduring a completely ridiculous video interview whereby Blofeld avoided every single question posed to him.  Thankfully Q’d had the presence of mind to make copies of all the information he’d found on Spectre, Blofeld and his links to Quantum, Denbigh and Nine Eyes, which he’d presented with aplomb to the assembled Board members.  Truthfully it had all been dreadfully dull, right up until the moment they had called in Bond and Q had almost fallen off his chair because he was certain the man had left already, after all it was unlike him to actually clear up after himself. 

He had felt those blue eyes on him the whole time Bond had been giving his evidence but he had ignored him, keeping his head down because he wasn’t entirely sure what would happen if he made eye contact.  There was a high possibility that he would hurl himself across the room or burst into tears, both scenarios were probably best avoided, given the fact that he was in an official parliamentary hearing.  Fortunately he managed to save that particular break down until he got home and could throw himself on his bed and cry in peace.  Bond hadn’t been at the verdict and Q had been glad, he wouldn’t have been able to control himself again.

The decision had been unanimous, every single member of the Board had voted to reinstate the Double-Oh Programme with immediate effect, it was the only option really.  Surveillance was all well and good but technology would only get you so far, you needed the human element.  As he’d told Bond, every now and then a trigger had to be pulled. 

He’d got to work immediately, beginning the long winded process of fixing the utter bloody mess Denbigh had made of their systems.  It was slow going and Q was exhausted, his eyes were dry and gritty, his back was aching and his wrists were protesting painfully about the hours of continuous typing he’d been doing.  The only consolation was the large mug of steaming Earl Grey he had in front of him.

He straightened up, wincing as his back cracked, and picked up his tea.  His long fingers curling around the thick ceramic mug, warming his hands as he breathed in bergamot before taking a sip.  Perhaps he should head home.  It was late, well after midnight and the few Q-Branch minions he’d managed to round up at short notice had long since gone home and besides, he was at a convenient place to stop and he was starving and in need of a good night sleep.  He hummed and took another mouthful of tea, almost choking on it when the lift at the far end of the room rumbled into life.  Q put his mug down with a clunk, his other hand already reaching for the palm encoded SIG taped to the underside of his desk.  It was a new addition because in the last week he’d narrowly avoided being kidnapped and almost been shot in the head, so he had good reason to be paranoid. 

He relaxed when he recognised the silhouette but only slightly, because really, when the fuck was Bond actually going to leave and stop giving him mini heart attacks?

The man strode into the cavernous room as if he owned the place, as usual, looking unfairly gorgeous in a beautifully cut oxford blue three piece suit.

“Bond,” he said, leaving the gun where it was and getting to his feet, “I thought you’d gone.”

Bond smirked, “Not quite.”

Q squashed the bubble of hope that bloomed in his chest and stepped around his desk, wondering what the hell the man could possibly want from him and then it clicked into place, “You want the car I assume,” he said crisply, striding over to the cabinet where all of the car keys were kept.

“The…car?” the older man said slowly.

He hummed, concentrating on punching in the right numbers to unlock the cabinet, “It’s all finished, right down to the ejector seat though I doubt you’ll have any use for that,” the door opened then and he quickly found the right key, heading over to the garage space on the other side of the room, ignoring Bond entirely as he keyed in the number and stepped back as the automatic door slid up to reveal the restored DB5. 

He had worked on it almost non-stop, staying late and coming in early and spending far too much money to get it perfect.  It was beyond pathetic really, he was well aware of that and he’d made his peace with it a long time ago.  Now it was done and Bond was going to disappear with it and a beautiful woman at his side and it wasn’t that he begrudged him a happy ending, of course not but over the last few months he’d allowed himself to hope that there was something behind the flirting and the tea and the occasional occupation of his spare room.  It was blatantly obvious that he’d been fooling himself and all it had ever been was friendship. 

“Now you’ve got what you came for, you can leave.  I’m sure Doctor Swann is waiting for you,” he said quietly, tossing the car keys in Bond’s general direction, keeping his eyes fixed on a spot just over his left shoulder.

Bond caught them deftly, “Madeline has gone.”

Q’s eyes snapped to him then, “Gone?”

“Yes, three days ago.  She’s probably back at work by now, as if nothing happened.”

He blinked, “Oh,” Bond didn’t seem particularly upset, though that didn’t mean anything really, “I’m sorry,” he offered. 

The blond gave him a half smile, “Don’t be.  I’m not ready for retirement and retirement definitely isn’t ready for me.”

Q let out a choked laugh, his brain ticking over somewhat sluggishly thanks to his lack of sleep, his eyes darting between Bond, the keys in his hand and the car itself.  Bond, for his part, didn’t seem to mind that he was being slow, “So, if you’re not here for the car, what was it you wanted?”

“I wanted,” Bond started, taking a few steps closer, turning the key fob over in his hand, “I wanted to ask you a question.”

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” he said tightly, “I was just heading home.”

“No, not really.”

He gave an exaggerated sigh and moved over to his desk, reclaiming his tea, “Fine, go ahead, Double-Oh-Seven.”

The other man moved closer still, taking slow measured steps until he was only a few feet away.  There was something just below the surface of his calm façade, he almost looked unsure of himself, it was an odd look on him.  Bond’s eyes dipped down briefly before returning to him, “Why did you walk away, the other night on the bridge?”

Q froze, mug halfway to his mouth.  He didn’t really know what he’d been expecting, but that wasn’t it.  He had thought that Bond was too preoccupied with Doctor Swann to notice or be at all concerned, “It doesn’t matter,” he muttered quickly, taking a large mouthful of tea.

“It matters to me,” Bond replied immediately, taking another step closer.

“Yes well, I have no desire to listen to you laugh at me so…” he trailed off, concentrating hard on his mug.

“Why would I laugh at you?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”  Q giggled, somewhat hysterically, “I would in your shoes.  It’s fucking hilarious when you really think about it!  I mean, someone like me, a geek, for want of a better word, who spends his time in a basement essentially, tinkering with computers and gadgets, falls in love with the most notorious Double-Oh agent MI6 has ever had!” he was breathing hard by the time he’d finished, fully aware of the fact that he’d said far too much, “So there, you have your answer,” he murmured shakily, “Now you can leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he sounded more certain, though Q couldn’t bring himself to look at him, in case there was amusement in his eyes, “I wanted to come and see you sooner but the hospital wanted me to stay in for observation and…”

That caught his attention, “Hospital?”

“Ah, nobody mentioned that then.”

“No, they didn’t,” he said sharply, wondering why Tanner or M or even Eve hadn’t told him, though he hadn’t exactly welcomed conversation over the last few day, “Why have you been to a hospital?  Are you ok?  Is there…”

“I’m fine,” Bond said quickly, taking more steps forwards as he held up his hands, fingers still wrapped around the car keys, “The doctors just wanted to make sure.”

Q frowned, “Make sure of what?” he asked hesitantly, his eyes moving restlessly in their sockets as he examined him as carefully as he could, searching for any sign of injury or any clue in the way Bond was holding himself.  He’d seen him countless times after missions, delivering destroyed equipment concealing broken ribs and dislocated shoulders and on one occasion a stab wound to his thigh, Q could always tell.  But as far as he could see there was nothing untoward, besides the scabbed over cuts that littered his face, but they were to be expected given the fact that he’d escaped from two explosions in under twenty-four hours only a few days before.  And then Q noticed a patch of discolouration, half hidden by the collar of his light blue shirt.  His feet carried him forwards of their own volition.  Bond didn’t move an inch, despite the fact that Q had practically thrown himself across the room towards him. He didn’t even flinch when Q reached out and took hold of his face, turning his head so he could get a better look.  The mark sat just below his hairline, right at the base of his skull, it was purple and angry looking, almost like a bruise but the centre was slightly raised like an insect bite or a puncture wound of some kind, “What happened here?”

“Blofeld.  He attempted some amateur brain surgery,” he winced as Q turned his head again to check the other side, only to find an identical mark, “He wanted to make me forget.”

“Forget what?”

“Faces.  The people who’re important to me.”

Q grimaced, “So what, he drilled into your skull?” he was half joking, because it was too grim a prospect to consider, but then he saw Bond’s face and he felt sick.  He felt sick and angry.  How dare he?!  How dare he do that to his James?!  The thought that Bond could’ve come back and not known him, that he could’ve looked at him blankly with no flash of recognition or trust, physically hurt him.  He wanted to go to Belmarsh and kill the bastard himself! 

He was dimly aware of Bond talking but he couldn’t hear what he was saying thanks to the ringing in his ears, his skin was cold and clammy but far too hot at the same time, his chest felt tight, so tight he could barely breathe and the nausea increased to the point where he was almost sure he was going to vomit there and then.  He realised, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he was on the verge of having a panic attack but knowing did nothing to help calm him.

Finally Bond’s voice broke through, large hands curled gently around his wrists, “Q?  Q, listen to me.  Concentrate on my voice, ok?”

He made a loud choking sound, unable to force any words out while he was struggling to breathe.

“Come on, Q.  Look at me.  Come on, darling look at me,” the endearment bled through the white noise, he forced himself to focus, green eyes finding blue, “That’s it.  Breathe with me.  Deep breaths, darling.  In and out, nice and slowly,” he tried to do as Bond said, matching his breathing as best he could through the gasps, fixing his full attention on the solid presence of the man in front of him, on his soft voice murmuring soothing things that Q didn’t quite understand, on those blue, blue eyes and the warm, calloused thumbs stroking across the sensitive skin of his wrists.

It seemed to take forever for his breathing to slow and for the vice around his chest to loosen enough for him to speak, “Are you…you’re…”

“There’s no lasting damage.”

“Y-you’re sure?”

Bond hummed softly, “My scans were clear.  The doctor said I might get a few headaches and possibly migraines.  I’ve got an appointment next week, just to make sure nothing’s changed.”

“And you’ll keep it?” he asked uncertainly.

The other man smiled at that, “Yes.  You can come with me if you like.”

He made a low noise and sucked in a deep breath, relishing the fact that he could move air properly, “M-maybe I will,” now that he was calmer he suddenly became aware of how close they were standing, practically breathing the same air, his hands still clutching Bond’s face and Bond’s hands still wrapped around his slim wrists.  He realised that he should probably move back or at least let go of his head but he was unwilling to break the connection, if only to keep reassuring himself that Bond was there, alive and relatively unharmed.

“You know,” Bond started, his voice quiet, “I was sure it had to be written all over my face whenever I look at you.  I mean, M can see it, Eve can see it, even bloody Tanner can see it but you can’t, can you?”

Q blinked, “S-see what?  I don’t…” he hesitated, looking, really looking at Bond.  His expression was more open than he’d ever seen it, his eyes soft and warm, almost molten.  The feeling that poured out of them was overwhelming.  It was…  His train of thought ground to a halt when he grasped exactly what he was supposed to be seeing, “Oh,” he breathed in wonder.

“Do you see now?” his voice raw and so full of hope.

He swallowed hard against the lump that was suddenly lodged in his throat, “Tell me,” he croaked, “I need to hear you say it.  Please.”

“I love you,” Bond murmured without a hint of uncertainty.

Q let out a slow, shaky breath, “James…” he whispered, because he was mostly definitely James right then.

The older man hummed and eased Q’s hands off his face, twining their fingers together as he stepped closer and leant in.

“Are you going to kiss me?”

He stopped, barely an inch away and chuckled, “Yes.  Problem?”

“No.  I just…I’ve been wondering what it would be like to kiss you for a long time.”

James smiled crookedly, “The feeling’s mutual, love.”

“We should probably make it a good one, shouldn’t we?” Q murmured as he licked his lips.

His blue eyes darkened, “Hm.  Yes, I suppose we should.”

It was probably the oddest first kiss he’d ever had, in that it didn’t feel like a first kiss, it felt like they’d been doing it for years.  Their lips slotted together with ease, there was no awkwardness, no bumping of noses or clashing of teeth.  They fitted together, like two pieces of a puzzle, as clichéd as that sounded.  It was Q that deepened the kiss, flicking his tongue against the seam of James’ lips and humming with pleasure when he let him in readily.  He licked into James’ mouth, shivering at the hot slide of the other man’s tongue against his.  The other man disentangled their hands, pressing them against the small of his back, tugging him closer so their hips aligned, sending jolts of pleasure through his body.  Q groaned into James’ open mouth and lifted his arms, cradling his head carefully, pressing his fingertips into his scalp.

They pulled away a moment later, both gasping for air.  Q’s heart was pounding in his chest, his lips felt slick and tingly.

“I think we can do better than that,” James purred, his voice rough with arousal.

Q smiled, “Not here.  Take me home.”

“With pleasure, Q,” he brushed a kiss against his lips as he spoke.

“Adam.”

James pulled back and frowned confusedly.

“My name,” Q continued, moving his hands down to rest on the other man’s muscular shoulders, “Of course if you prefer Q, that’s fine too I just thought, given the circumstances, you might like to use it,” James remained silent as he babbled, staring steadily, the surprise evident on his face.  He began to feel a little foolish for divulging such information, perhaps it had been unnecessary, “Not at work obviously, here we’ll still be Double-Oh-Seven and Q but when we’re alone we could be James and Adam, if you want.  If not then that’s fine, I think I already said that but…”

“Adam?”

He broke off abruptly, shuddering at the sound of his name on James’ lips, “Y-yes.”

“Shut up,” he kissed him then, devouring his mouth with a ferocity that left Q breathless and somewhat wobbly.  Q clung to him desperately, painfully aware of the burgeoning erection he could feel beneath James’ fine wool suit trousers and the fact that he was in much the same condition in his own checked trousers.  He rolled his hips slowly and James pulled away with a bitten off moan, “Christ!  Home.  Now,” the man stepped away as he spoke and took his hand again, tugging him towards the car.

Despite his almost blinding arousal Q held his ground, smiling softly at the way he had said home, as if it were _their_ home and not just his, “No, no, no.  Wait.”

“What?”

“I can’t just leave, I need to shut everything down and lock up.”

James groaned loudly and tipped his head back, “You are killing me here.”

“Be patient,” he stepped forward and brushed a kiss to James’ throat as he spoke, letting his teeth graze the sensitive skin then, “It’ll be worth the wait.”

“I know it will darling, now hurry up before I just take you over your desk.”

He raised his eyebrows, “Who says you’ll be the one doing the taking, Double-Oh-Seven?”

The other man swallowed, his Adams apple bobbing tantalisingly, “God, I love you.”

Q grinned, “I love you too.”

“Say that again.”

“Again.”

“I love you.”

“Again.”


End file.
